


Wild Butterfly

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bisexual Character, Celegorm/Curufin - Freeform, Celegorm/Curufin/Aredhel, Cousin Incest, Desperation Play, Dildos, F/M, Fantasizing, Incest, Interrogation play, Masturbation, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Omorashi, POV Female Character, Rough Sex, mentions of:, nobody ships C/C as hard as Aredhel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Although Aredhel loves to be at Celegorm's mercy until she's thoroughly exhausted, she's equally fond of fantasizing about their relationship (and others) in great detail whilst pleasuring herself.





	Wild Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karari/gifts).



> Dear Karari, thank you so much for the lovely prompt(s) and the additional information you gave me. I hope you like what I came up with. 
> 
> **based on the following prompt:** Aredhel loves having wild sex with her cousin, and loves being dommed by him even more. She fantasizes about it in great detail when they're apart (masturbation is more than welcome). When they meet, Celegorm has her tell him her fantasies while he teases her and denies her orgasm, and then makes every last one of them real until Aredhel is thoroughly exhausted and thoroughly satisfied.
> 
> Thank you [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion) and [tyelpings](http://tyelpings.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this story for me. <3  
> 

  **Wild Butterfly**

*****

 

_‘My wild butterfly.’_

That is what he calls her as she struggles underneath him.

_‘Savage.’_

That is what she names him in the throes of her passion as he fucks her, wildly, in the vast expanse beneath the stars.

_‘Untamable.’_

His voice fills with strange affection; and then she is laughing, happy and vibrant, a sound like chiming bells.

To him, her happiness is the greatest compliment of all.

 

*

When they are together, they fuck every night - and most mornings after, unable to keep their hands from the other, hungry fingertips scratching along already bruised skin, bared teeth against bite marks casting violet shadows across her ivory skin.  Barely awake, her mind still hazy from slumber, he grabs her tiny wrists, dragging her from the bed down onto the furs. “I want you.”

“Again?” Aredhel groans, feeling her cunt twitch despite the soreness. “You had me last night. Thrice.”

 She moves to get to her feet but he is quick to render her action useless, covering her body with his own and sliding a finger along her cunt.

 Aredhel groans as the finger slides inside her, one slow joint at a time. It is joined by a second one, and a third, stretching her open even as they slide in and out of her cunt

 “I _will_ have you again,” Celegorm snarls, eyes gleaming like a beast’s regarding its prey. He fucks her with his fingers, slowly, teasingly. “Just to give you something to think about the next couple of days.”

Enthralled, she stares at him, drinking in the sight of his tousled silver hair falling across tanned shoulders, and rapture seizes her. He smells of sex and forest, like the earth after a heavy rain, giving her that special look she never tires of, the one that looks as though he wants to rip her apart. She shouldn’t want it now, so soon, but he’s irresistible.

“Tyelko,” she murmurs, digging her nails into his back as he enters her. He groans above her, inhaling sharply and a smile begins to form on her lips.  She’s hardly wet enough for it yet, and her inner walls still ache from the night before, yet he does not have mercy on her. He hadn’t had last night, either, using her thoroughly until she was lost in a maelstrom of oblivion and ecstasy.

She likes it that way, as she has reassured him often enough. ‘Just go on,’ she would always urge him, ‘ignore my whines.’

And whine she does, a stinging pain knocking her breathless. He kisses her, hard and intense, driving his tongue into her mouth until she nearly chokes, but she kisses him back with the same vigor, clawing at his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Today he feels even bigger than usual, Aredhel thinks as he begins to roll his hips against her, the wetness between her legs increasing with every thrust.

Before long he has her moaning beneath him, wanton, drowning in the chasm of pleasure his movements provoke. Her legs wrapped around his hips, she intends to meet each and every thrust, scratching along his back until he has her screaming with those perfectly timed deep rolls of his hips, with his nails at her nipple, pinching and twisting until her vision blurs.

Sweat-slicked skin against sweat-slicked skin, her breathless cries mingling with her cousin’s, his arms enveloping her shivering form as the waves of orgasm crash down on them. She wishes she could stay like this forever, although she knows it can never be. It pains her, yes, but then it does not, leaving only frantic excitement each time they meet.

“Get dressed, and be quick about it,” she hears him say through the fog of orgasm, his seed already trickling down her thighs. “We ride back to Tirion.”

“Like this?” she blurts, standing up, pointing towards her stained and dripping legs.

He slaps her buttocks in encouragement. “Aye. I like it when you return home with the smell of me.”

 

*

A few days ago they had set out for a hunt, seeking deer and wood grouse; by its end, she had been the only one who was brought down.

Or him. In the end, they could never tell for certain

The touch of his large hands mapping every inch of her skin still lingers in her memory; the rough touches on her hips, hard enough to bruise. Aredhel closes her eyes and finds herself dreaming in the middle of the day, as she does so often when they are apart. If questioned, she would never say that she loves him. At least not in the horrible romantic way she’s supposed – _expected_ – to love. It is different. Wild and savage in rapture and torment, an obsessive desire, so incredibly addictive that she cannot escape. She’s fond of him and finds him intriguing, likes him perfectly well, and damn, he’s beautiful to look at with his steel-bred muscles, his tall, broad shoulders, and his silver hair. Simply impressive. Well, there is certainly more than simply impressive, especially as their sexual fantasies match perfectly.

He’s not gentle; he never is, the virtue entirely lost to him. Not that Aredhel ever wants him to be, though - he’s kind, in his own way. He can even be gallant, incredibly charming, if it serves his purposes – not that much gallantry was needed to lure her into the forest at first. 

She had gone quite willingly – and never regretted.

Aredhel has her bodice pulled down. The warm air of the room kisses her naked flesh as she lays down on her bed, nestled in a cocoon of silk and silver pillows, often too comfortable to abandon in the morning. Her apologetic smile, over the years mastered to perfection, has saved her many a scolding.

Now, she smiles for different reasons: lazily, she begins to play with her nipples whilst her other hand slips between her legs, a finger sliding up the length of her cunt, experimentally probing. She’s wet already, and in comparison to the cock she’s used to, large and thick, her tiny finger, even two, are hardly sufficient to fill her in the way she so much saviors it. Large is good; larger is even better, especially with his sensuous hands. Sometimes she tries to mimic his rough touch with her own hands, often with disappointing results: he’s unpredictable with her, touching and teasing her in a way she had never known possible, always exciting, often edging at the border of depravity.

With ease a third finger slips inside her, thrusting and curling inside her vagina whilst the fingers of her other hand trail up and down her belly until goose-flesh decorates her marble skin, the bruises he left behind mere faded impressions. A pity, truly. She always begins like this, imagining that it is Celegorm’s fingers that spread her open whilst he licks her cunt in the same rhythm. Within a few moments he has her thrashing and tossing, begging for more and pleading him to stop at the same time, because he knows damn well how to touch her. And please her, too.

Easily, she slips into the precious memories she harbors in her mind, substituting reality with the coiling heat of Celegorm’s skin against her own, his silver hair tickling against her breasts. Although it’s nearly impossible to reach orgasm like this for her it’s quite pleasant, a foreplay she takes great delight in, preparing herself for all the fantasies while clouding her mind.

With closed eyes she dreams of Celegorm; how he kicks her legs apart, pressing her against a tree so that she has no chance to escape; about how he would tie her hands above her head, just before he does with her as he pleases. There is no greater delight for Aredhel than to be at his will and mercy, to imagine his cock buried deep inside her instead of her fingers. As always, and just like in reality, it is enough to have her sopping wet.

With a groan of frustration she withdraws her hand and reaches below her bed, from where she retrieves a wooden casket, a present Celegorm once made her. In there she hoards a stash of candles, different in size and length, some even carved by her own hand. It’s a wonder that her chambermaid has managed to deliberately ignore it all the years. She knows Celegorm has a metallic replica of a cock in his rooms. He has used it on her several times with great delight and even though she has a suspicion from whom exactly he has gotten it, she has never brought it up to him. There is a small bottle of oil in the box as well, although she hardly needs or uses it whilst alone. Perhaps it should worry her that she enjoys the twinge of pain so much, the feeling of being filled completely, even if it means she would be sore the day after, or sometimes even after that.

From the box Aredhel retrieves one of the carved candles, slim at its upper end and tapering to several inches wide at the bottom.

She spreads her legs wider, adjusting her back so that she can comfortably reach down with the waxen plug in her hand. The first few centimeters slip inside her with ease, much too easy for her liking, so she presses on until finally she feels the resistance against her flesh she loves so much, the twinge of pain and pressure that makes her mind and body soar. It burns just a little as she continues to press it inside her, dreaming that Celegorm would not stop right then. She moans out loud, feeling her vagina stretch around the candle, her walls fighting the intrusion whilst she struggles to breathe.

Only then she gives her body a moment to adjust, reveling in the glorious feeling coursing through her body, multiplying as she pinches her nipples hard, imagining it to be Celegorm’s rough and calloused fingers, his teeth against her nape. It’s not enough, Aredhel decides: not enough friction, not enough pain, not enough of everything.

From her mother’s wash and the kitchen she has stolen a few wooden clothes pins, which she misuses quite frequently of late. Patience never was her virtue, and so her hand urges the plug further inside her, twitching it back and forth as her body slicks it. She whines and moans; the last two centimeters are always the hardest to take, but in her desperation she’s keen to embrace the pain that comes with it, making it impossible to sit for days.

More than once her father had inquired about her fidgeting about on her chair at the dinner table, his grey eyes half-worried and half-angry. She had always donned her most brilliant smile, blaming her extensive riding lessons earlier that day for the discomfort she now endured. Aredhel would kiss him on the cheek then, thanking him for the wonderful white stallion he had gifted her for her coming of age, hiding the smirk against his skin. She had been riding, aye - but not the horse, her savage cousin. Her father never suspected a thing.

With fluttering eyelids and a loud moan the plug at last slides fully inside her, making her breathe hard and shudder all over, heat accumulating torturously inside her. _Finally_ , she thinks in excitement, rolling over onto her stomach. She grabs one of the pillow and places it beneath her pelvis so that her cunt rubs against it as she moves, buttocks high up in the air. That’s the position she likes best, the only way to ensure that she reaches her orgasm multiple times, something she discovered years ago when she didn’t even know what sex and orgasms are; it simply had made her feel good. It still feels good like that, flat on her stomach, just as it had felt good as she did it whilst Celegorm had watched her in amazement. Afterwards, he had taken her harder than he ever had, their hands buried in each other’s hair, screaming their passion into the night.

Before she starts however, she retrieves two clothes pins from the casket. With care she attaches them to her nipples, inhaling sharply as the wood bites down. Sweat begins to form all over her as she brings one hand beneath the pillow, rolling her hips against it. The room is hot, yet the silk feels cool against her skin and her movements become more frantic with every moment that passes.

She lets her fantasies wash over her, each thought leading to just another wicked fantasy; Aredhel thinks about Celegorm making her wear the plug through dinner with her family before he would come to her afterwards, replacing the plug with his cock without further ado. How he would fuck her from behind, her breasts dangling in the rhythm of his thrusts before he would cup them with his large hands, kneading them until she cries out in ecstasy. Her composure begins to falter then, the arm which holds her up denying her support and she cries out in pain.

The position she’s in is a curse and a blessing alike for such games: if her arm wavers just a centimeter, the nipple clamps brush against the silken sheets.

But isn’t that exactly what she craves? This divine mixture of pleasure and pain, something Celegorm has mastered to perfection? With her cousin’s name on her lips, his imaginary teeth sinking into her skin, she comes, muffling her cries of ecstasy with another pillow.

Once, a good while ago, Turgon had asked her over breakfast if she had injured herself at night, eliciting a furious blush on her side and roaring laughter on Fingon’s, and resulting in Turgon storming out of the room. He hadn’t spoken with the two of them for days, sulking, brooding.

Now, slowly coming down from the heights of pleasure, the waxen plug feels all of a sudden too large for her, way too intense, yet she doesn’t even think about removing it. The clothes pins however she removes, her nipples overstimulated and rock hard; bright red, the imprints clearly visible. Each brush of silk against them will feel like thousand needles, a torturous sensation perhaps not best suited for family dinners.

Thankfully, it is only afternoon.

With a content sigh she starts anew, rolling her hips languidly and slowly this time, without the urging desperation she had felt before. Still, her cousin’s face lingers in her thoughts and she thinks about the many things he has promised her which have never come to pass until now; how he would take her amidst the bloody remains of the hunt; how he would carve his initials into her skin until blood would trickle down her spine; and then, close to climax once more, she thinks of a different fantasy altogether: of fingers slim and skilled, perfectly manicured, never stained with blood or other filth. She knows what sort of relationship Celegorm has with his little brother, just as Curufin knows what sort of rides they enjoy when going on a hunt. Where others would be most certainly repulsed, showing their judging stares, Aredhel is outright intrigued by the mere thought of it, wondering if he goes to Curufin on those days he’s not visiting her. Perhaps she should be ashamed of it, which she is not.

She knows she shouldn’t be jealous because Celegorm loves and cherishes her in every sense of the word. Indeed she doesn’t even know if she truly _is_ jealous – if she can be jealous as she can hardly give him what he desires from his brother my any means.

Curufin’s and Celegorm’s relationship is special: one of friendship and brotherhoods. Aye, brothers with certain benefits – so actually not quite a relationship. But neither is theirs, and for that Aredhel is forever grateful. _Relationship_ sounds so false to her ears, so incredibly boring, leading inevitably to the golden cage of marriage, forcing her to spread her legs out of _duty_. A nightmare come to life.

She knows much about their lives, but not whether or not they fuck each other. Even though in her dreams of late they certainly do. Just in the way she once had seen her brother doing it. The memory still haunts her, these days more than ever. Oh, what would she give to simply watch them, both naked as the day they were born, sweat glistening on their skin in the candle light. An undignified noise leaves her mouth as she rubs harder at her clit, fantasizing how Celegorm would order his little brother to spread his legs, touching him in a way he certainly should not. Would Celegorm allow his little brother to take him, she wonders then, if Curufin is as talented with his mouth as she is, too. Before long, without even noticing, her finger wanders towards her buttocks, slipping between them where she finds her skin warm and damp. She has never touched herself there before, so for the first time today she hesitates, at least a little. The feeling as she pushes her dry finger experimentally against the ring of muscle is a strange one, with odd being perhaps the most accurate word to describe how it feels. Odd, yes, she affirms in silence, yet strangely exciting at the same time. It’s hard to imagine that a cock should fit, especially Celegorm’s – but that is how it is done? That was what she had imagined?

Easing her finger just an inch inside, her thoughts switch between silver and ebony hair, black as her own, back and forth. What if .. what if _both_ would have their unforgiving way with her, ripping her white gown apart, somewhere in the forest where nobody would hear her screams, followed by her cries of pleasure?

Her cunt twitches at the mere thought, staining the pillow beneath her body as her needs become more urgent with every second that passes.

_Damn you, damn you both – damn your entire family!_

At this point, Aredhel is far too ready for her next orgasm, bucking her hips hard against her palm, pushing her finger deep and deeper still, although some oil would probably have been a wise idea. She likes to imagine that Curufin’s cock is smaller than Celegorm’s so it would be him who’d fuck her from behind whilst Celegorm is deeply buried inside her cunt, whispering obscenities into her ear before he kisses his little brother over her shoulder, hard and savage. This imaginary does it entirely for her — because she damn well knows how demandingly Celegorm kisses — pushing her over the brink of climax. Moans fill the nightly air as she shudders and twitches, riding the waves of climax harder than she ever had.

 

*

Briefly, Aredhel considers taking a shower to wash off the smell of sex that seems to cling to every inch of her skin, but she feels way too lazy to do so; she even feels too lazy to put the candle back into the box, leaving it to sit beside the pillow. Instead, she stretches languidly on the bed, cursing her bladder for slowly filling itself, trying to lure her out of the comfort. She ignores that too, dreaming about the days in the twilit forest. The constant ache between her thighs, the desire still coursing through her veins, mingling with the embarrassment of what she has just had imagined, lets her drift into slumber, sated and happy. Between sleep and wakefulness she drifts back and forth, her cousins’ faces returning to her thoughts every now and then, hand idly slipping between her legs where she languidly strokes herself. _I could stay like this forever_ , Aredhel thinks.

 A whistle on the balcony makes her entire body jump, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush as her gaze falls onto Celegorm.

 He has been watching her all the while. Is watching her still.

 Staring.

 Smirking.

 Hastily, she wraps the silken blanket around her body before she walks towards the large window.

 She opens it a little, whispering to him as if she’s afraid of being overheard. “How often have I told you that you shouldn’t do that?”

 Nevertheless, she opens the window completely with an exaggerated sigh, inviting him in with a wave of her hand. “Come in.”

 And so Celegorm does, striding across the room as if these were his own chambers, and falling into the plush chair opposite of the bed. He has been hunting, successfully so; the smell of horse and sweat and blood tells her as much.  

 Celegorm makes himself quite comfortable in the chair, stripping his shirt off and throwing it down onto the floor. “I seem to have forgotten,” he says with indifference.

 “Forgotten. Of course.” An undignified noise leaves her mouth, yet she smiles in encouragement, arms akimbo.

 He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a groan he stands up and takes a few steps towards her, encircling her waist to pull her close as he always does, hunger burning in his eyes. Aredhel doesn’t need to be told twice, either, as her arms fly around his neck, letting the blanket slide down to the floor.

 Celegorm raises his eyebrows, and then he smirks at her all the more, sniffing along the side of her neck. “You smell of sex,” he states, excitement shining in his eyes.

 Desperate as she is for his attention, his body against hers feels like a blessing. Possessively, he kisses the hollow space above her collarbone, his large hands wandering along her arms and fingers.

 Aredhel knows she hasn’t got a chance to argue against Celegorm’s statement; she doesn’t even want to, hoping that Celegorm would perhaps feel inclined to take over.

Side-eying the objects still lying scattered on the bed, he asks, “Was a couple of days ago not hard enough for you?”

_Never._

Aredhel merely smiles at him, playing the innocent maid she hasn’t been for years.

 “Don’t play coy with me, you insatiable wench,” he says, his teeth pulling at her throat. A distinct hardness forms against her stomach, she notices with great delight, grinding suggestively against the bulge in his breeches. In its wake he mutters, breath hot against her skin, “Damn you.”

 “Are you complaining?” she mocks him, guiding his hand between her legs because it feels so incredibly right when he touches her there.

Celegorm lifts an eyebrow. “You’re still wet. You must have had quite the ride earlier.” His index finger slips easily inside her, as far as it goes, curling up until a moan of encouragement leaves her lips. “Of whom have you been thinking, fair lady?” he mocks her in return, a curious yet genuine expression on his face.

 “Of you,” she answers. It is not the complete truth, but not so far from it, and it certainly will — and has to — do as there’s barely anything that gets Celegorm as frantically excited as the smell of sex.

Naturally, Celegorm feels flattered – at least for a few seconds. “About whom else?” he whispers, his lips and teeth dangerously close to her ear, so close that gooseflesh begins to spread on her throat. “Do not lie to me.”

She wrestles against him. “I told you so before – about you.”

Arousal laces his words. “Why is it that I do not believe you, fairest lady of them all?”

In the wake of it, a second finger slips inside her.

She tries to shove him away playfully, without much success. “Because you are suspicious? Because you judge others by your own standards?” Nevertheless she tries to meet the rhythm of his fingers, becoming more desperate with every rub of his thumb against her clit.

“Hardly,” mutters Celegorm, withdrawing his fingers from her.

Aredhel whines upon the loss of contact, cursing herself for it; she has become so horribly predictable, a slave to her cousin’s touches.

“Damn you, get on with it!” Celegorm hears her complain.

Instead of obeying her, Celegorm smirks maliciously. “Rather not,” he tells her, turning on his heels to walk back to the plush chair in which he falls, legs crossed.

She stares at him, glaring, which makes him only smile all the more. “You’ve always been desperate for my attention. Now you have it fully,” he says, knowing precisely well that Aredhel is aware what this statement truly implies: give me a show to remember, he means without saying so.

She shivers, both in delight and shame. It is not the first time they are doing something like this, but it’s the first time since Aredhel has begun fantasizing about illicit threesomes. She mutters in weak protest, close to pouting, trying to make her point with an exaggerated sigh. “Not the way I want it. That’s not fair.”

“I am never fair,” says the one who is named ‘The Fair’ among their kin, gesturing towards the ruffled sheets with his outstretched arm.

Again, his eyes drift towards the waxen plug, and from the little bag he has brought he pulls out the metallic cock, much to Aredhel’s surprise, throwing it in her direction. “You will repeat what you did earlier,” he orders her, after she catches it between her hands, “and I will watch you all the while, and whilst you fuck yourself, you will tell me what you have fantasized about in great detail. And do not try to take me for a fool: Unlike to your father I know when you are lying, butterfly.”

For a second Aredhel is tempted to throw the plug right back in his smirking face. “I hate you!” she says, yet she sits down at the edge of the bed all the same, plotting in her head how she can avoid confessing her dirty fantasy because that is what troubles her most. More often than not, Celegorm is horribly predictable; other times he is not.

Celegorm smirks all the more. “Easy now. Perhaps later I will feel inclined to assist you.”

A curse, and yet a promise.

He is a natural tease, truly, and Aredhel has cursed often him for being one, knowing well that this is exactly what she enjoys so much about him; he is different, so very different, than all her siblings, cousins and distant relatives, ignoring royal decorum whenever possible, and even when it’s not. From time to time he’s unpredictable in what he thinks and does, a daily surprise and the constant cure of her boredom. She’s a princess, her parents’ precious darling; to her brothers she’s the stubborn sister, wild and free of mind. When she’s with him, though, she’s everything she has ever wanted to be without truly knowing it: savage, reigned by her emotions and a fire burning so brightly within her that would put even her uncle to shame. And so she obeys him, never without question, but in the end always to their mutual satisfaction. 

Like a cat she crawls onto the bed, overly dramatically, and as she does, she shoots her cousin her most charming smile. Contentment, as well as silent encouragement, shines back at Aredhel, eyes raking over her in her entirety, from her swollen nipples to her muscular thighs he drinks her in, giving her orders with a glance. She knows what is expected of her, yet she doesn’t know if she can fulfill his fantasy; the metallic plug feels cold and heavy in her hand, so different in comparison to the waxen replicas she usually has to use. Still smiling she lies back with legs spread and bent, giving Celegorm the perfect view as she begins to work the plug inside of her.

The first inch, small and narrow, slips inside her all too easily, lulling her into a false sense of security, because damn it, after that she meets incredible resistance from her body. Without doubt she has overdone it earlier, barely granting her body the time to adjust to her maddening fantasies and this is the result — a burning feeling, almost comparable to the worst ache of muscles.

Celegorm’s eyes rake over her, holding her gaze as she struggles to push it deeper inside her body. “I wouldn’t be so patient with you,” he remarks casually when tiny beads of sweat begin to adorn her forehead. It’s no lie though, he wouldn’t be nearly as hesitant with her, so she pushes the plug further, each inch of success accompanied by not so quiet moans, growing louder as she struggles to take the rest.

Much to Celegorm’s delight she’s thrashing and whining, fighting her body’s urge to get rid of the foreign object inside of her. She doesn’t relent. She never does. Once more, pleasure pools in her guts as her body fully adjusts to the plug inside of her, and then she flips herself over, rearranging the pillow between her legs just the way she did earlier.

A pity, truly, that she can’t see Celegorm like this, but then, the order was to do it as she did it before, and exactly that is what she starts doing now.

Well, she tries to until Celegorm interrupts her, voice brimming with mischief. “I don’t think the clothespins are lying there for naught.”

Why did she even think he would let that slip?

 _‘Truly?’_ she asks without words, shooting him a coy glance across her shoulder.

A groan of annoyance leaves her cousin’s lips, one of the sort she knows is entirely fake. “Get on with it.”

She lifts her upper body from the bed, sitting back on her haunches until Celegorm falls completely silent. More than once he has told her what a beautiful sight she presents like this: ebony hair, slightly curled pooling down her shoulders, highlighted against her ivory skin; arms slim, yet muscular from long years of archery. Twisting the clothespins in her hands back and forth, a blush tints her cheeks pink as her thoughts return to her other cousin. Curufin does not look so much different from her, she thinks, his frame much smaller than Celegorm’s own, more like her own indeed.

What if…?

Aredhel doesn’t dare to think further, instead reattaching the pins to her swollen nipples, which is quite uncomfortable and therefore wonderfully diverting. In fact it is uncomfortable enough to make her squirm against the pillow between her legs, resulting in the plug pressing deeper inside her. Her breath comes in short gasps, eyes open just enough to see the candlelight dance against the wall, her vision blurred. Lazily, she moves up and down against the pillow, imagining how her cousin’s calloused hands trail along her back towards her buttocks. The sound of rustling fabric reaches her ears, yet she’s lost in the sensation she inflicts upon herself that it is lost to her.

The sight she presents to Celegorm must be an obscene one: her buttocks lifted up into the hair, the silver of the plug standing out against her ivory skin, rolling her hips against the pillow. Although she is imagining him in her mind, the urge to look at him arises, so that she shoots Celegorm a glance — a mistake perhaps, because what he sees drives her wild. With his breeches only unlaced he palms his cock, thick and heavy in his hand, moist with precome. As much as he loves to watch her, she loves to watch him in return; he is strong and beautiful in his very own way, those flexing muscles of his forearm, those scars she loves to kiss scattered across his skin.

He doesn’t stop stroking himself as he speaks. “Now tell me, cousin…” Is all he says, and Aredhel decides to play along. By then, she is close to yet another orgasm, spasms of pleasure crawling along her spine. So she begins to tell him selected parts of her fantasies with cheeks flushed lightly pink, fucking herself into a frenzy, the words more often than not accompanied by a filthy moan. She tells him about that day he took her in the forest, hands still bloodied from the hunt; about that other time when he ravished her as her hands hung high above her head, secured by brown doeskin leather. She tells him about her need to feel his large hands on her hip, too, reveling in the sensation each memory brings her, etched into her mind for long years to come.

Many of Aredhel’s days are lost in reverie, in fantasies of ropes and leather, of silently spoken commands and a guiding hand on the small of her back, enough fantasies to fill a book the world has not heard of. Despite the knowledge that her entire life still lies ahead of her, she feels as a thousand eons are not enough to bring all her memories and fantasies to life. 

“Why is it that I do not quite believe you?” The words break through the hazy veil of lust.

 _‘Because you’re an idiot?’_ Aredhel doesn’t say that, instead she tries to guide their talk in another direction. “Perhaps because my performance is quite distracting?”

It truly is; she can tell from the color of his eyes, now a dark grey just like the sky before a heavy storm, whereas they usually are more the color of bright silver. She tells him yet another fantasy of hers, one of the sort she knows well that he’s incredibly turned on by, what the obscene sound coming from his direction easily confirms.

Every now and then she shoots him a glance over her shoulder, her muscular thighs shaking with the strain of exhaustion, her freckles standing out against her flushed skin. Their relationship is one of passion, of desperate hunger for each other, often edging at insatiable insanity, burning so brightly that it almost consumes her, and although they never speak about it, Aredhel is certain that Celegorm too is turned on by the forbidden intimacy. 

“Desire something?” asks Celegorm, palming his cock in the same rhythm as she fucks herself.

Aredhel curses him under her ragged breath because he knows damn well what she desires, and the thin fabric he wears doesn’t leave much to her imagination. “Damn you!”

Celegorm snorts. “The perfect answer.” Nevertheless he stands up and walks towards the bed, gripping her tightly by the hips, hard enough to bruise. The smirk on his handsome face, which she catches as she looks over her shoulder, does not quite match his brutal grip. It startles her, but not enough to tear her out of her frenzy.

Aredhel moans out load as his large hands cup her buttocks, kneading them until it begins to hurt, spreading them until a finger slips between her cleft. “What made you touch yourself there?” he asks, bending down so that his large frame covers her body, lips against her ear. She inhales his scent, feels his sweaty skin against her own, sensation after sensation coursing through her.

“Tyelko,” she breathes, both in surprise and shock, not denying anything, “how would you know?”

Celegorm’s grin is blinding in its intensity. “Your finger still smelled of it.”

“I was curious,” she says in her defense, shivering beneath him.

Without warning, Celegorm yanks her arm behind her back by the wrist, hard enough to make her see stars, and so forceful that she nearly tumbles into the bed, face-forward. “You are always curious,” he says mockingly. And then goes on, thoughtful as he seldom is, “One day your curiosity will be your ruin.”

Several orgasms have left their mark on Aredhel, because on any other occasion she would bring about a quarrel about that remark. Not so today. Instead she offers a rather simple explanation. “I wondered what it would feel like.”

 “I have no doubt about that,” states Celegorm, spitting onto his fingers. 

She interrupts him. “Savage.”

A slicked finger circles her hole. “I wonder if you are still curious.”

It is a statement, not a question, Aredhel realizes as the tip of Celegorm’s thumb does not only circle but presses against her ring of muscles before she can even answer. A single finger of his is thicker than two of her own, so it is hardly a surprise that it feels different, entirely different, to what she did before. Indeed, Aredhel does not know whether to allow the intrusion or fight it, but as it so often does, her body takes the decision, allowing the questing finger entrance. It feels odd, because she doesn’t know what's coming next, and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice whispers that she should be ashamed, yet she’s not. Pressing further, he licks along the shell of her ear, saying, “And I wonder all the more what made you curious. Would you like me to fuck that hole of yours whilst you’re still filled with that plug?” More carefully than she’s used to, he eases his finger inside of her until she trembles beneath him, the sensation bordering on pain but keeping her fully aroused, “or would you rather have an actual cock inside of you?”

Aredhel can’t hold in the moan, which turns into a pitiful and wretched sound as the first knuckle of his thumb stretches her further, can’t help to thrash beneath him, experiencing something she has never felt before.

For a moment Celegorm leaves her be, rubbing the small of her back in circles. “I never told you to stop moving,” he whispers, a dangerous edge to his voice in high contrast to the gentle motions of his hand. Actually Aredhel has not even noticed that she has stopped rolling her hips, and so she resumes moving her body up and down, dictating the rhythm of how his finger fucks her. 

“Damn you,” she swears under her breath, suddenly realizing that she’s begging for more by clutching his wrist in desperation. His gasping breaths, ragged and filthy, fall in line with her own sounds. Before long, Aredhel presses her face into the pillow — has to press her face into the pillow — muffling the sounds being wrenched from her throat so that not the entire household doesn't hear as she moans at the edge of madness.

And then, all of a sudden, when she is edging at the brink of orgasm his finger and hands are gone. With ease he flips her over, their eyes meeting across the distance. He looks down at her, her skin almost translucent, covered in a sheen of sweat, gaze traveling to her nipples with the clothespins still attached, the little buds blossoming red like a rose. Between hunger and desire, Aredhel sees the warning in his eyes. “What were you thinking, Irissë?”

Shame tints her cheeks scarlet. “About you… and a lovely scenario…” she says, the rest lost under a string of moans as without warning Celegorm withdraws the plug from her, only to push it back inside with full force. She hopes that reveals enough without actually revealing anything, because although she is rarely embarrassed, this time she truly is. Fantasizing about her lover’s little brother, about watching them fuck, is hardly a suitable to reveal. Indeed she is quite anxious, her heartbeat quickening every second Celegorm remains silent.

“About who else?”

She bites her lips. “You.”

Another thrust.

“Who else?”

Swallowing hard, she holds his questioning gaze until he tears at the clothespins.

_‘Bastard.’_

_‘Too much,’_ Aredhel thinks, panting, _‘too much. Too much to bear.’_

A whine bleeds from her lips before she answers. “Your little brother.”

There it is, finally. She is so close, so very close, moans building in her throat as she rocks against the plug. She can actually feel her orgasm right on the edge of exploding through her, and yet he denies her, letting go of her nipples. She studies him then, afraid that he is angry and jealous, or worse. Disappointed. She couldn’t even blame him for it, but relief washes over her as she realizes he is neither.

Celegorm quirks his eyebrows in genuine surprise, removing the clamps. “Curvo?”

If provoked, Aredhel could swear like a bawdy sailor. “For fuck’s sake, yes! And now get on with it, will you?”

To no avail she tries to rub herself against her cousin, against the plug, against whatever is close enough, which is nothing at all. Deliberately, Celegorm ignores her, not even thinking about touching her, sitting back on his haunches with a malicious smirk spread across his face. “About my little brother? I can’t quite believe it,” he laughs, shaking his head in amusement, which sends his unbraided hair flying. “Tell me more, Irissë.”

“Tyelko,” she breathes, “You are cruel.”

Amusement flitters across his face. “Without a doubt I can be cruel, yet it has come to my attention that you rather like me that way. However, I must disappoint you. Right now, I’m only curious what excites you about him. He’s mean, he’s incredibly selfish  — a narcissistic imposter.”

“And yet you fuck him.” The words are out of Aredhel’s mouth before she realizes it.

For a split second they both stare at each other rather shocked, before Celegorm laughs again, bringing his hands between her legs, spreading them wider apart. “So that is it what you fantasized about? Watching us … fuck?”

The words alone provoke a shudder, giving her away.

“You know,” Celegorm murmurs against the crook of her neck as he removes the plug from her cunt with a loud plop, making her whine in discomfort. “If you actually want to bring your fantasy to life, you could simply ask him. I have not the slightest doubt that he wouldn’t be intrigued by the mere thought of it. He likes being watched.”

The moment he finishes speaking, he leans down until his lips are against her ear, nibbling at the lobe until she squirms beneath him. “Or perhaps not? How exactly do _you_ want him, Irissë? In my stead, his cock inside your dripping cunt?”

A filthy moan escapes her lips. She can’t explain why, but the mere thought of it sends jolts of excitements through her. “Or — wait,” momentarily he lets go of her. His large hands wander back towards her buttocks, lifting her up a little so that he has better access. In desperation Aredhel begs him to move, yet Celegorm doesn’t even think about it. Instead, he parts her cheeks and lets his fingertip ghost against her hole, pretending to touch but never truly touching her. “Perhaps you want him to fuck your virgin ass. Now how does that sound?”

Her words are nothing more than whimper. “Tyelko, please.”

“Please, Curvo fuck my arse? Or what?” Celegorm asks with a laugh, imitating his brother’s voice, which sounds incredibly sexy with the hoarse edge to his voice.

Aredhel nearly climaxes yet again. It’s not far from the truth she has to confess. In her fantasies she’s always riding Celegorm’s cock because it feels perfect inside her, just as Celegorm’s teeth feel perfect against her nipples, and Curufin takes her from behind. “So many choices, dearest cousin. You could ride me, press your tits against my chest and whilst you do, he can breach you until you squirm between us, so filled that you feel as if you’ll burst.”

By the gods, Celegorm has a natural talent for undoing her. Completely and devastatingly. By now, she’s quite certain he knows he has hit the mark quite accurately. “Intriguing thought, now isn’t it? Or, perhaps not quite? Maybe something different is on your mind, and you want him right before you, shoving his cock down your throat whilst I fuck you. You always paint quite the picture on your hands and knees.” As he speaks he runs his hands over her body, from her shoulder to her flank and back again.

“Your ideas are worse than mine,” she somehow manages to choke out, not arguing the point. Instead she whines as three fingers slip inside her without warning, thumb rubbing against her clit.

“Or perhaps, if we stretch you enough, we could both fuck your cunt?” As if to prove his point he inserts a forth finger, certainly feeling the resistance her body gives him.

She tries to evade the pressure, yet at the same time she finds herself pressing against his fingers, grinding against his hand, obscenely so. Aredhel is long past caring — desperate and wanton, beyond ready for her next climax, begging him to stop and then kissing him to continue, urging him with sharp nails to fulfill her needs. Sometimes she thinks they ruin themselves this way, but then, when she’s with him, when he’s in her, all else is forgotten. In the end, all descendants of Finwë ruin themselves in one way or another, Aredhel has learned that early enough, even those golden fools of cousins. With shaking arms she pulls him even closer, his hand awkwardly trapped between their bodies, kissing him before yet another idea which would never leave her spills across his lips, moaning into his mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

 

*

Strong arms wrap around her as her climax ebbs, pulling her close against Celegorm's damp body in the way she usually loves it.

Usually.

As much as she savors the calm before the storm, because she knows it’s far from being over yet, something else demands her attention. It had been numbed by the adrenaline coursing through her, silenced by her cousin’s lips, but it now speaks to her in desperation. With a sigh, quite unwilling to leave Celegorm’s embrace, she tries to sneak out of his arms, poking him in the ribs when he doesn’t react.

That doesn’t help, either. “Let go of me, Tyelko, I need to go somewhere,” she mutters.  


“Curvo is out of town,” says Celegorm, the smirk audible in his voice despite his fatigue.

“It’s not that,” Aredhel frowns, knowing that he will tease her forever with this valuable information. “To the bathroom.”

The pause before he speaks again stretches long, way too long for Aredhel’s liking.

“No,” he states, smiling at her. Aredhel is certain her shocked surprise flitters unconcealed across her face, that perhaps she even bids him with her eyes to let go of her. Celegorm does not relent. “You can go to the bathroom when I am done with you.”

Aredhel wrestles against his hold. “Tyelko!”

Celegorm rolls on top of her, using all of his considerable weight to pin her down, one hand trapped between them. “I'll fuck you, and then I might grant you leave.” To make a point he presses his palm on her lower abdomen and watches the look on her face, surely one of desperation, as he rubs his hand there in small circles. “Or maybe I'll fuck you again?”

A warning or a promise. With Celegorm she can never know.

“Tyelko please,” Aredhel pleads, despite knowing that his mind would not be changed. Of course she could try to bribe him, she often has in the past, successfully so. Using her mouth on him – or rather him using her mouth — is his weakness. She could offer that, Aredhel considers; or she could simply let it happen, because even though she does not understand what is happening, she realizes that Celegorm’s circling motions against her belly are going directly to her cunt.

“Shut up,” he says, his grip tightening, his hardness pressing against her cunt, “use your mouth to slick me.” The add _ed ‘or I should make you?’_ goes unspoken.

Aredhel groans in frustration. She is slick enough, although sore from her previous adventures, yet she obeys him, as she usually does. If she does not, it is because she wants him to make her do it, pretending she’s unwilling. But she is too excited for such games right now. Sitting up, she brushes her tangled hair out of her face as she leans in, taking her cousin’s cock into her mouth, as far as she can, just the way she has learned he loves it best. She bobs her head, once, twice, her tongue pressed flat against its underside before she falls back into the silks in defeat and invitation alike.

Celegorm does not have to be told twice.

Like a beast upon its prey he’s on her within a second, guiding his cock inside her as his lips slide down to her breasts, capturing a nipple between his teeth, biting down hard enough to distract from the pain between her legs. She bites his shoulder in return to muffle her moan as she feels how his cock meet a certain resistance, which makes him only press all the harder, sending jolts of pain and excitement through her body. That is why she loves it so when they are out in the wild beneath the open sky. She isn’t quiet during sex, nor is he, and it’s a pity being forced to be. Yet there’s more to it:  no fear of being caught, no late night strolls through their family homes or awkward climbs to her balcony, just them, for hours and for days.

Celegorm looms over her, his large frame trapping her in the shadows, kissing her with fierce intensity until her bladder twitches. On any other occasion she would press her thighs together, fighting against the growing urge, but right now she can’t with Celegorm spreading her open.  

Pain floods her as he inches further inside of her. She whimpers and whines, thrashing her head from side to side, because as her discomfort grows, so does the urge. He gives her that look, asking silently if she’s okay, and she nods; after all it’s her own fault that she’s raw and sore. By Celegorm’s will alone she’s granted a moment to adjust herself to his cock, which feels even larger than usual inside her, before he begins to thrust shallowly into her, which makes the pressure of her bladder infinitely worse.

Aredhel spasms and gasps, losing just a little more control before she realizes what exactly is on her cousin’s mind; with each thrust he stays inside her a second too long, pressing his groin against her belly in a way that has her squirming beneath him. If she thought the urge to use the bathroom was alarming, she was clearly mistaken. Now, with Celegorm’s cock inside her, stretching her oversensitive mucosae, her bladder feels like bursting. It is an odd feeling, uncomfortable in a strange way, although she is quite certain that this rather comes from the incredible fear of wetting herself. Because if she is honest, it isn’t painful or truly uncomfortable, quite the contrary, as she’s forced to clench her muscles around Celegorm not to wet herself. He is kissing her, then, and the kiss is as if they are drowning and pulling the air from each other’s lungs, savage and feral. When her lips are not sealed by his, she whines and moans, sounding like a bitch in heat, all the more when suddenly her legs are upon his shoulders. It’s one of the positions she loves best because it gives her clit the most friction as he thrusts. Now it’s perhaps the worst position ever. Instead of her cunt, only her bladder seems to be stimulated. Aredhel does not quite understand. There’s discomfort, aye, but at the same time a strange warmth floods her, coiling in her belly and spreading throughout her body. Certainly no coincidence, of that she is quite certain, confirmed as it starts anew as Celegorm thrusts into her again. Denying her in such a way as he ravishes her, taking her hard and rough, is truly edging on torture, and in a way it feels wrong to gain pleasure from it -- at least that is what her mind is telling her. Her body tells a different story entirely.   

She knows he’s desperate; she can see it on his face, forehead wrinkled with the effort to make it last until she's floating in a sea of endless bliss. It is often said that he’s impatient and hasty, and she knows he truly is, but not when he is with her.  Judging from the dampness forming on her skin she does not look much different, Aredhel thinks, although the reason is quite a different one. With every thrust she fights against her own desperation, yet at the same time small gasps and muffled cries fill the room, desperate and wild.

“Tyelkormo” she mumbles, exhaustion and effort straining her voice. Today, everything feels more intense as she has perhaps ever experienced it before. True, with Celegorm it is always intense in the literal meaning of the word. He’s torturing her on purpose, dragging out her orgasm as long as he can, bringing her close to it, so very close until she thinks she’s going to dissolve in a second. And then he stops — not entirely so, just enough so that she can catch her breath, soaring down from the heights of pleasure. Just as sensation ebbs he kisses her, kisses her there on her bruised buds until a tremor shakes her body.

Damn him, because he goes even slower than before, dragging it out until she hears her whimpers muffled against his skin, mingling with the groans Celegorm makes above her. Aredhel has no name by which to call him, no breath left to swear and curse, drowning in the odd pleasure slowly consuming her. She knots her fits into the blanket, then into her cousin’s hair, pulling him close for a kiss as encouragement. It is cruel, torturous what he does to her, kissing her only for a second before he whispers into her ear. “Just imagine…”

A fierce knock against her door nearly results in Aredhel peeing herself, and before she realizes what's happening, Celegorm’s hand flies to her mouth.

The knock is followed by an impatient voice. “Irissë, it is dinner time.”

Turgon, without a doubt.

As if the situation isn’t bad enough, Celegorm resumes telling his fantasy. “Imagine.. your back pressed against my little brother, his arms wrapped around your chest, his cock buried deep inside your arse. You feel filled already, your body quivering against my brother’s because the sensation you feel is strange, your cunt throbbing and moist, waiting for me. Languidly, he rolls his hips against you and in that moment…”

The sound of shuffling feet in front of the door reaches her. “I’m coming,” Aredhel chokes out in a half-strangled noise. She only understands what she has said when Celegorm above her nearly bursts out laughing.

Only when she hears her brother leaving does she speak again. “Idiot.”

Celegorm ignores the insult, pushing deep inside her. “I would spread your legs and slip inside you, have you screaming and writhing between me and my brother, have my fingers around your throat. And then, Irissë, we’d fuck you, relentlessly, in the same rhythm until you’d beg for our mercy.”

The mere thought of it kills her, perfectly matching what she has been fantasizing about of late. She loves feeling her cousin’s heavy weight on top of her, and her orgasm begins to take hold of her again, wrapping its invisible arms about her throat. To hear Celegorm speak like this, about his own brother, re-telling her filthiest dreams out loud, makes her walls twitch around his cock, which is now thrusting into her in a staccato-like manner so that the pressure in her belly becomes more urgent than ever. Her hands fly to Celegorm’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood as the waves of orgasm shake her body like cockleshells on the raging ocean. He kisses her then, hard and savage, losing more and more control over the perfectly aimed thrusts until he follows her into bliss, both slaves to the momentum when all composure is gone.

 

*

Indeed, her leave has been granted once they have come down from the heights of bliss; peeing, with her cousin’s seed still inside of her, has never felt so…relieving. Despite better knowledge to hurry up, ignoring her brother’s information, she slips back into the bed again, pressing her heated body against Celegorm’s, head resting on his chest. In a post-orgasmic haze she mumbles, annoyed, “I’m not hungry.”

Celegorm smiles at her, brushing a stray strand of dark hair out of her face. “You appeared quite hungry a moment ago.”

She smiles back at him in return. “And now I am sated.”

Sated. Content and happy. She’d give the world to stay in Celegorm’s arms tonight, listening to his calming breath, listening to the tales of the forest he has always liked to tell.

With much reluctance she withdraws from him, standing up from the bed on shaky feet, not so silently cursing her obligations.

“I understand,” says Celegorm, picking up his breeches and searching for something in their tiny pockets. Curiously, Aredhel watches him, but cannot see what he retrieves from there, not until he stands before her, opening his palm. Her gaze falls on two little silver half-rings, delicately crafted with little bolts at one end and the matching nut on the other. They look a little like some of her earrings, mostly gifts from her father, apart from the size of the bolt; hardly fitting for ordinary earlobe piercings.

Her gaze shifts from her cousin’s hand to his face, looking quizzically. “Yours?”

“Sort of.” Celegorm’s voice sounds strangled. “My brother gifted them to me a while ago.” A pause follows before he goes on, “and often since that day he makes me wear them during dinners, which tend to stretch horrendously long in a family of nine.”

“Why are you telling me that?” says Aredhel, feeling yet another flush creep along her skin when Celegorm attaches both silver clamps to her swollen nipples.

“Because …” With evident effort Celegorm forces his gaze up from her breasts. “If you desire to play with us, you best know the terms.” With every word he says his face lightens up, until the mischief was so plainly obvious that it dawned on Aredhel.

“No no no,” she says hastily, fumbling at the little bolt, “I’m not wearing them tonight.”

His hands cup her breasts again, squeezing and pinching, until her resistance begins to waver. “And what if I order you to?” he asks, kissing her softly on the lips, “each time your gown brushes against your nipples, you will be reminded of all your filthy dreams. It serves you right, incredibly so, and by the time dessert is served you will be so wet for me that I can take you yet again with ease.”

Despite her sore cunt and the smell of sex clinging to every inch of skin she gets all too easily excited. “We shall see,” she says, hardly sounding as indifferent as she wishes to.  In the wake of the words, she hastily pulls a silken dress over her head, smoothing it down with her hands whilst he falls back into the bed with a content sigh.

Celegorm chuckles. “No underwear tonight, fair lady?”

She shoots him a glance, shaking her head in amusement. “No,” she says, pausing briefly. "Stay here whilst I am gone,” she orders, knowing well that he will obey her. As submissive she is with him in bed, and as much as she loves when he uses his physical power on her, on any other occasion they meet each other on eye-level, with Aredhel telling him more often than not what to do and what not to do. Leaning forward, she kisses him briefly before she makes for the door, turning her head to look at him.

“Tyelko?” Aredhel asks, lips curling into her most innocent smile, the handle of the door already between her fingers.

Celegorm is close to dozing off already. “Mhm?”

“Does it gets you off when I speak about your little brother whilst you are inside of me?”

Within a second he’s fully awake again, staring at her, coughing and spluttering. It's obvious he’s fighting for words to say in his defense, and indeed it doesn’t happen often that Celegorm is rendered speechless. Therefore, it is an even greater delight to her, something in which she can revel throughout the tedious affair that family dinners often are. She opens the door, realizing with terror it was never locked, and disappears into the corridor of her father’s house, glad and thankful that her cousin brightens her days in a way so hardly akin to romantic poems and songs.

*

 


End file.
